


Vicodin Blues

by ActionAddiction



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gabriel Has Issues, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActionAddiction/pseuds/ActionAddiction
Summary: This is not the first time they’ve been here.In the past, Gabriel would make more of an effort, like he’d promised. He would never stop completely, but he wouldn’t get high. He’d never take anything in front of Jack. At night, he would let Jack curl up against him and let him pretend that things could be this way again. ‘Like they used to be,’ that’s what Jack always said.Or: How Gabriel Reyes watches his life come apart at the seams.





	Vicodin Blues

**Author's Note:**

> The only reason this work exists is because of this amazing EP: https://z-and-a-music.bandcamp.com/album/vicodin-blues
> 
> I suggest you listen while you read.

“Where is he?” Gabriel Reyes bursts through the door of med bay, his black tactical gear mangled so badly the dark red blood is oozing from a deep gash in his chest.

Angela jumps up from where she’s attending to an unconscious O’Leary. “Gabriel!” She looks almost frightened. “Ach! What _happened_? I’ve been told Ramirez and Jesse are in need of immediate medical attention — and you look like you got into a fight with something nasty. Look, I know it isn’t my place, but this is getting out of hand. What—”

Gabriel scans the room; although most of the beds are occupied, he can’t seem to find the face he’s looking for. “Blackwatch matters,” he growls, already turning unsteadily on his heel and heading for the door. He ignores Angela’s cries behind him that he needs a health pack and stitches and instead rounds the corner to only to run head first into the man he’s looking for.

Jack Morrison is so incensed that the tips of his ears are turning red. It would be almost cute if Gabriel weren’t quite so pissed off. “Reyes! What the hell is the meaning of all this? I demand an explanation.”

“Huh, like hell you do.”

“When you briefed me before you left, you said this would be an _extraction_.”

Gabriel snorts darkly. “Y’know how it goes, ” he rolls his left shoulder experimentally; it feels like it might be dislocated.

“No,” Jack steps closer, narrowing his eyes. “No, I don’t think I do. I think you should explain it to me.”

“Whoa, Jackie,” Gabriel takes two stumbling steps back until his back connects with the wall. “Gettin’ a little close there.”

Jack recoils like he’s just been slapped. He grabs Gabriel’s possibly dislocated arm, despite his cries of “ow, shit, what the fuck, Jack—” and hauls him bodily down the remainder of the hallway and into his office. He slams the door behind the two of them with a sharp crack. Jack crowds him up against the desk, and Gabriel tries to pull his lips into a suggestive quirk.

“Couldn’t even wait to get me to the bedroom?” he slurs.

“Are you _fucking high?_ ” Jack pulls Gabriel’s chin up roughly. “Your pupils are huge. _Don’t_ ,” he starts as Gabriel opened his mouth to respond, “just— don’t bother. I’m not an idiot.”

Gabriel crosses his arms defensively. “Yeah, so I’m on some pain medication. I’ve got a fuckin’ _hole in my chest_ , in case you haven’t noticed. Bite me, Jack.”

“And before that?” Jack persists.

“Before that what? My team has been through hell these past three days — thanks for that, by the way — and you’re worried that I may have taken some pills?”

“Yeah, about that. The critical injury rate on your missions is absolutely out of control. Have you considered that’s why I’m so worried about ‘some pills’? You are a _commander_ , Reyes.”

Jack pauses to run his hands through his hair. Gabriel sits back against the desk, already gritting his teeth at what he knows is coming next. “Those men out there? As soon you get out onto the field, their lives are in your hands. One bad call from you and they don’t get to come home. You don’t _get_ to play around with things like that.” He’s shouting now, getting right up in Gabriel’s face. “So _yes_ , Gabriel, yes, I am worried about whether or not you are inebriated when you’re supposed to be doing your goddamn job.”

“F-fuck you, Jack,” Gabriel spits back. “You wanna know why our crit rate is so high? Maybe it’s because our Strike Commander is too busy worrying about what he looks like on TV to notice if he’s sending us to our deaths.”

Jack steps back, breathing heavily. “I would never send you on a mission if I thought there was no way out, Gabe. You know that.”

“Do I?”

“ _Yes_. You have to trust me on that.”

There’s a tentative knock at the door.

“Yes?” Back against the wall, Jack doesn’t bother to look up.

“Commander Morrison, you’re needed for the debriefing with the UN in five minutes. The director has also requested that Commander Reyes be present.”

“He isn’t coming,” Jack tells the agent. “Commander Reyes still needs to get his injuries treated and determine the status of all his agents.”

Gabriel nods silently, calmly meeting Jack’s cold glare. Usually, he’d fight any and all of Jack’s orders, but the room is still spinning sickeningly around him — although if Gabriel’s being honest with himself, he isn’t confident that it’s because of his injuries. He knows this isn’t over, and that if he wants to avoid the subject he should most likely make himself scarce that night.

As he slowly makes his way back to med bay, he tries to hold onto the feeling of righteous indignation in his chest. Focusing on the anger allows him to tamp down on any feelings of shame caused by Jack’s disgusted look when he’d realized that Gabriel was off his ass. Angela fusses over Gabriel’s injuries as usual, even though she knows he’ll heal three times as fast as anyone else.

She gives him the same lecture she always does, about how he’s not superhuman, and how one of these days his carelessness is going to get him damaged in a way she won’t be able to fix. He nods along listlessly, allowing her to stitch up his chest without so much as a flinch. When she’s finished, he holds his hand out expectantly.

She shoots him a look. “I’m not giving you any more prescriptions. If you’re sore, take an Advil.”

“You know that stuff doesn’t work for me. I need something stronger.”

“Like what?” Annoyance is beginning to creep into her voice, and Gabriel has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I am not giving you Oxy, Gabriel. I know what you’re doing. And I don’t know where you’re getting it from, but it most certainly will not be from me.”

“Look,” Gabriel does his best to sit up properly and focus his eyes on Angela’s. She’s frowning at him. “I’m trying, okay? I’m doing my best to — to stop.” What had Jack said back in his office? “You have to trust me on this.”

She regards him silently for a few moments. “ _Fine_. But I’m giving you a low-dose slow-release formula.” The breath escapes out of Gabriel’s lungs and he slumps back against the wall. “And if I get any word from Jack or anyone else that you’re stumbling around out of your mind, this will be the last time.”

“Sure thing, doc.” He pushes himself off the examination table, but doesn’t get more than a few steps out the door before he’s confronted yet again.

Gabriel groans at the sight of Ana. “Oh God, not you too.”

She gives him a curt nod. “You should go talk to Jesse. Angela just dismissed him, but he was awfully quiet when I saw him. I think it would do him some good to…hear from you directly.”

A flash of guilt shoots through Gabriel. His single-minded fury about the operation going belly-up had forced the image of Jesse being practically carried across the threshold out of his mind. “Where…?”

She jerks her head in the direction of the bunks before motioning to his left hand. “You want me to hold onto those for you?”

“What?” He looks down at the bottle, still clutched tightly in his first. “No, these are for my stitches. I almost got disemboweled, in case you didn’t hear.” And he was going to need some soon. His last two Oxys had worn off almost an hour ago, and the angry pink skin surrounding the stitches was beginning to ache.

And it’s still aching later that night when he tries gingerly to wash around the area in the shower. He fails somewhat miserably, and hisses in pain as some of the soap drips down his neck and into the mess of cuts and scrapes on his chest. It stings like a bitch, but the pain is not unwelcome; it keeps his thoughts from drifting too far away

He’s dreading asking Jesse the question he’s about to, even though he already knows the answer. The anticipation mounts as he steps out of the shower and over the bloodstained tactical pants and shredded undershirt. His vest is no doubt sitting in the garbage somewhere, disposed of by Angela after she was finished with him. Somewhat vindictively, he hopes it got blood on her spotless white lab coat.

He’s still rooting around his drawer for a clean shirt when he spots the orange bottle sitting right where he left it on his dresser. Flipping it over, he reads the directions written on the back: _Take one pill every six hours, and no more than four pills in a 24 hour period_. Gabriel snorts as he deftly twists of the lid, shaking three pills into his palm before tipping his head back and swallowing them dry.

After that, he dresses quickly and makes his way down the hall to rap his knuckles against Jesse’s door.

“ _Gonna hafta let yourself in, can’t get to the door m’self._ ”

Gabriel doesn’t bother to ask for the code; there’s no use pretending he doesn’t still know it by heart. He types it into the keypad and as the door slides open, he’s instantly hit over the head by the smell of Jesse’s cheap cigarillos.

“You supposed to be smoking those?” Jesse is propped up in bed, shirtless, bandaging covering the better part of his torso.

“Ya won’t tell.”

“No, I won’t.” Gabriel pulls a chair away from the wall, and drops into it heavily. “How much of you is left under all that wrapping? You look like a goddamn mummy.”

“S’just a scratch, _jefe_.” Jesse says, without cracking a smile.

Gabriel steels himself. “So I’ve been hearing things around base. About how you’re planning to request a dismissal.”

“Have you now?”

Gabriel winces internally at Jesse’s cool tone. “Yes. Didn’t believe them at first; figured if you were planning something like that, I’d be the first to know.”

Once, a long time ago, Jesse would’ve come to him for advice before talking to anyone else. He was still mouthy every time Gabriel tried to talk some sense into him, but the man could tell that what he said somehow got through the kid’s thick skull. Before that, there was a time when Gabriel couldn’t imagine a place he could go where Jesse wouldn’t follow.

But time passes, and things change — Jesse wasn’t his stubborn kid anymore.

Jesse lets out a deep sigh. “I won’t beat ‘round the bush. You and I can both see the way things are going, _jefe_. I reckon it’s ‘bout time I…”

“Cut your losses.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Gabriel thinks back, trying to remember a time in Blackwatch before McCree. It’s difficult. “You got somewhere to go?”

Jesse gives a noncommittal shrug. “I know the ins and outs of a fair few places.”

“You weren’t planning on requesting a dismissal were you.” It isn’t a question.

Finally letting out a chuckle, Jesse turns his gaze to the ceiling. “No, s’pose I wasn’t.”

The heavy feeling continues to solidify itself in Gabriel’s stomach. _You were just going to, what, slip out in the middle of the night and leave us to wake up and find you gone?_ is what he doesn’t say.

Instead he says, “Then I suppose there isn’t much more to talk about.”

“Mmm, nope.”

It’s awfully formal, and Gabriel has the sudden urge to reach out and shake the kid’s hand. “At least stay until you’re healed up? Otherwise you now Angela will throw a fit.”

“That was the plan.”

Gabriel stands, wiping his hands on his cargo pants for lack of something to do with them. As he makes his way back to the doorway, something comes over him and he turns. “You take care of yourself, McCree.”

“You too, _jefe_.” Jesse doesn’t look sad, just resigned. With a jolt, Gabriel realizes that this might be the last time he sees the kid. In the handful of seconds he has left, he tries to burn into his head the way the cowboy’s brown hair flops over his ears and the way his eyes scrunch up at the corners when he knows he’s saying something he ought not to.

Numbly, Gabriel lets himself out into the hallway, his feet carrying him on autopilot. The medication is beginning to kick in, and his vision is beginning to go fuzzy at the edges. The twinging pain in his chest has thankfully faded into the background of static in his brain, and Gabriel can finally feel the tight muscles in his back begin to relax. He’s also starting to feel a little woozy, which is both unusual and probably not good.

 _Thought Angela said she was giving me a low dosage_.

It’s still nothing compared to the excess opioids he can buy off Overwatch agents after they return from injury.

He must be more out of it than he thought, because the next time Gabriel looks up, his toes are bumping against the door to Jack’s room. Gabriel’s own quarters are still located in the bunking area off headquarters like everyone else, but Jack had been transferred to a more private room against his will when he was officially promoted. Jack still insists that it’s far too extravagant, but Gabriel has come to appreciate the privacy it offers them. The corridor leading up to Jack’s accommodations is nearly deserted, which thankfully saves Gabriel from the shame that his subordinates watching him slipping into bed with the Strike Commander would bring.

Jack is already in bed, back to the door when Gabriel enters. Kicking off his pants, he drops onto the bedspread and melts bonelessly against Jack’s broad back.

“Mmm, _cariño_ , you smell so nice…”

Jack’s body tenses and he shuffles around to face him, pulling out of Gabriel’s grasp in the process. “We didn’t get the chance to finish our conversation earlier.”

Gabriel clumsily pushes forward. “Later, Jackie, can’t it wait?” His thumb caresses the waistband of Jack’s worn pajama bottoms. “We haven’t...not in so long.”

“Knock it off, Gabe.” But there’s not heat in his voice, Jack only sounds tired. “Besides,” he adds, spitefully, “with all the shit that’s running through your veins I doubt you could get it up anyway.”

Gabriel chooses to ignore that particular jab for the moment. “For you _cariño_ , always.”

“I’m not your sweetheart, don’t call me that. You know I’m not going to have sex with you when you’re like this.”

“I don’t see why not.” Gabriel says petulantly.

They’d had this conversation so many times, that Jack’s response is practically automatic. “Because even if I wanted to, _which_ I don’t, I would want to be with _you_. Not...whatever this is.” He gestures to Gabriel lying across from him in the bed.

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

Jack rolls away from him again and the tense silence stretches out with both men stubbornly unwilling to break it.

And like always, Gabriel is the first to cave. He’s always hated fighting with Jack, and when he’s high, the feelings of outrage rapidly melt away and leave him with nothing but blank detachment.

Speaking to Jack’s shoulders, Gabriel tries again. “Did you know McCree was going to skip out on me?”

“Yeah, I’d heard some things…you didn’t know?” Jack is still refusing to look at him, but at least it’s something.

“Guess not.” He lifts one shoulder in a sort of halfhearted shrug. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Nothing I could do about it.”

“You do know why he’s leaving, don’t you?” And suddenly, Jack is angry with him again. It always seems to go in cycles with them, from anger to resignation, and then back again. Over, and over, and over.

Gabriel can’t bring himself to fight it, and the fire slips back into his voice. “No, he didn’t say — oh, but of course _you_ would know, right?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who doesn’t.” Pushing past him, Jack rises to pace around the room. Gabriel watches with mounting annoyance as the man gets himself worked up. “Don’t you know how your own team talks about you when you’re not around?”

“Like there’s anything they’d tell to you that they wouldn’t say to my face.”

“What, you haven’t noticed how everyone walks on eggshells when you’re around now? Admit it, they think you’re unstable. No one wants to be the first one to find out what happens if they piss you off.”

“ _Basta_ , Morrison, what do you want?”

Jack ignores him and instead goes right for Gabriel’s jugular. “They say that you’ve a junkie who’s lost touch with reality and that they can’t trust your calls. _That’s_ why Jesse’s jumping ship — he’s already lost his arm, and he’s trying to get out of here without losing anything else.”

The accompanying image takes Gabriel’s breath away like a knife pushed up under his ribs: Jesse, crumpled on the floor of their rescue helicopter like a discarded doll. The blood seeping out from where Jesse’s arm had been blown off just below the elbow only served to make his pale face look more ashen by comparison. Gabriel’s head was spinning, and try as he might, his eyes just wouldn’t focus.

With every sharp exhale from Jesse, Gabriel tried to elevate his arm a little more or steady him against his legs a little more securely.

When Gabriel stumbled off the helicopter, Jesse finally pried from his arms, he could tell by the look in his Strike Commander’s eyes that Jack was scared.

That night as Gabriel sat outside the operating room, he tried in vain to get his hands to stop shaking.

 _Come on,_ Jack begged, _you haven’t slept in over forty hours._

Gabriel would sleep when Jesse came out of surgery.

_You’re sweating, but you’re still shivering. You need to go lie down._

Gabriel couldn’t leave. What if something happened?

_Gabe, please, you couldn’t have known. This isn’t —_

He should’ve been faster, he should’ve seen, he should’ve been more alert. If he had known, if he had noticed the way the ground dimpled before Jesse had rolled over onto the land mine, then Jesse’s arm would be more than a smattering of bone fragments and muscle tissue on the dirt.

That night, Gabriel shuddered in Jack’s arms as he finally admitted that he didn’t know how he could do all of it anymore. That week, Gabriel lay awake each hour of every night, chest squeezing tight in panic, before Angela had finally caved and written him a script. Just one, to help him sleep.

The magnitude of what Jack has said sinks into both of them before he’s even finished speaking.

For several seconds the pure, unadulterated fury breaks through Gabriel’s chemical calm and he’s afraid he might actually reach out and physically stop Jack from speaking. To his credit, Jack must notice this because he has the decency to look somewhat ashamed.

“I — Gabe, I didn’t…”

There’s a slightly awkward pause between them. Gabriel is desperately trying to slip back into the cool of his brain, all he wants is to forget this conversation, that night outside the operating room, _everything_.

And yet, Jack can’t bear to let him.

Jack instead plows forward, resentment replaced with the determination of a man who has given up. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I’m… not sure there’s anything I can say that will make you happy.”

“No, I don’t think there is.” Jack agrees.

In a startling gesture of affection, Jack reaches forward and brushes a few stray curls from Gabriel’s forehead. Gabriel closes his eyes, and tries to remember the last time Jack kissed him.

This is not the first time they’ve been here. In the past, Gabriel has ridden out the wave of Jack’s anger, waiting for it to dissolve into sadness before sweet-talking the man into his arms for the night. In the days following, Gabriel would make more of an effort, like he’d promised. He would never stop completely, but he wouldn’t get high. He’d never take anything in front of Jack. At night, he would let Jack curl up against him and let him pretend that things could be this way again. ‘Like they used to be,’ that’s what Jack always said.

And maybe at one point, Gabriel had believed it too. But slowly, over time, it had morphed into something hollow. The promises Gabriel made to the man he used to love were always broken, the words of apology and pleas for forgiveness becoming almost rote. Everything they had once painstakingly built had become nothing more than a pretty, gilded lie.

Maybe Jack is finally tired too.

“We can’t keep doing this, Gabe.” Even though Gabriel is expecting them, the words still make him feel ill. “Not if nothing is going to change.”

“I know.”

“Is that it?”

“What more do you want me to say?” Jack sighs, and Gabriel realizes that at some level, Jack is still hoping that Gabriel will fight him. Maybe even fight _for_ him. But unlike the more hopeful man, Gabriel knows that anything worth fighting for has slipped away a long time ago.

Whatever Jack sees written on Gabriel’s face must’ve been enough of an answer for him.

“Get out.”

“What —”

“ _Please_ just… just go.”

And Gabriel slips away without another word.

Back in the chilling quiet of his own room, Gabriel crouches down on the floor and begins rooting through his sock drawer. It feels almost painfully cliché, but honestly at this point he can’t bring himself to give a shit. He finally pulls his hand back out, squinting to read the faded label on the bottom — and _yes_ , it’s the good shit he scored from DeMarco last month.

He deftly pops the contained open. Maybe tomorrow, he tells himself. Maybe tomorrow he’ll...do what, exactly?

It’s not as if he has a lot to look forward to in the coming days, when Jack will surely avoid his eye contact and McCree will slip away unnoticed. If Gabriel cared more, he’s sure he would be revolved by his own complacency.

Instead, Gabriel leans back, and lets the darkness catch him.

Tonight, for the first time in weeks, Gabriel lets himself dream. In his head, he’s no longer a government-experiment-turned-leader of the world’s most elite task force. Instead, he’s a sergeant, barking roll call on the first day of SEP.

The names and faces of the recruits all blur as he reads their names off the freshly printed roster before him. _“Macdonald, Riley...Morgan, Joseph...Morrison, John...”_

He sneers at the cocky smile on his youngest recruit, but finds himself fumbling at the sight of dimples and glimmering blue eyes. Quickly, Gabriel schools his features back to neutral and focuses his full attention back on the muster. He can feel those eyes on his mouth as he reads the names, and it takes effort not to look up again and catch their gaze.

Even back then, he’d known that Jack Morrison would be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it. Would you believe this has been in the work for almost six months? First work for this fandom, so let me know what you think. Thanks for reading :)


End file.
